


if you seek his monument, look around you

by orphan_account



Series: until the light takes us [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ainur - Freeform, Almaren, Character Study, Everything goes badly, Eönwë is a sweetheart, First Age, Flashbacks, For Science!, Gen, Gratuitous archaic english!, Implied Relationships, M/M, Mairon doesn't understand emotions, Mairon is a nerd, Mention of Animal Death, Spring of Arda, War of Wrath, Years of the Lamps, don't expect fluff, seduction of mairon, Ósanwe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22741477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They had lost, and everything- the endless days that he had spent planning, building, creating - had all been wasted. It was the pure and utter waste that he felt the most regret for, really. He could have done so much better.Nearing the end of the War of Wrath, Mairon plans for his future while contemplating his past. A character study.
Relationships: Eönwë & Sauron | Mairon, Eönwë/Sauron | Mairon, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor & Sauron | Mairon, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Series: until the light takes us [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637341
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	if you seek his monument, look around you

**if you seek his monument, look around you**

**_i._ **

Cinders had cooled to ashes around his feet, and above him, the moon had risen. 

_Time,_ Mairon reflected, was a cruelly amusing construct. To one like him, a century may be a blink of an eye or a whisper in the night. And yet- strewn all around him- lay the husks of millennia of work, annihilated in a few scores of years. He had seen it with his own eyes - the great legions of Angband, dissolved like snow in a blazing flame. His fellow Maiar - the ones hadn’t fled - slain like animals on the fields of battle. He had seen it when the Black One had fallen from the sky, and he knew at that moment, that they had lost.

Yes, they had lost. Strangely, there was an absence of anger on his part; indeed, he had known that this moment had been coming for some time now. Melkor had driven them all to ruin in the end, and any words of caution that he had given his master had been thrown in the wind. Once, these thoughts would have seemed blasphemous to him, but now they only stank with the bitter taste of truth. 

They had lost, and everything- the endless days that he had spent planning, building, creating - had all been wasted. It was the pure and utter _waste_ that he felt the most regret for, really. He could have done _so much better_.

Everything could have been different, if Melkor had only listened.

His master had faded into a shadow of his old self at the end of his reign, an ugly echo compared to his past glory. Nobody could look upon him and see him for anything than what he was - defeated and humiliated, disfigured and scarred. The titan of sheer potential whom he had pledged his life to had long died, a figment of a dream which had faded into obscurity. Gone was the King of the World, the Master of Fate! No, Melkor couldn't even master himself, let alone anyone else. It had been him, _Mairon,_ who had kept the delicate balance that was Angband's power in place. It had been _Mairon_ who had managed it, built its walls, united the Men of the East under its dark banner. It had been _Mairon_ who had kept the Vala's worst temper tantrums in check, who had always advised moderation- temperance- _diplomacy- and-_

There was… there was no point in dwelling on it now. 

Melkor, if he wasn't utterly destroyed, was soon to be completely irrelevant to the grand scheme of things in Arda. Mairon, never content with mediocrity, was not about to become a martyr for him.

He would surrender, bide his strength. He had what Melkor never had- _patience_. In time, the tides would change to his favor. The Powers never cared about Middle Earth anyway. In time, he could rebuild his forces to something greater than they had ever been.

He just needed time - that’s all it was. Things had come apart too fast, too soon. He was no fool. He would not continue fighting a war when he stood no chance of winning in his current state. His spirit burned with humiliation as he contemplated his strategy and the options that lay before him. _Eventually_ , he promised himself. He would nurse his injured pride, if only to live to fight another day.

It was good then, that he could still call upon a form that was undiminished. Mairon focused, and reached for Power, drawing it around him like a cloak of flame. There was the unpleasant feeling as always, of being squeezed into a set of clothes too tight as his _fana_ shifted to the will of his _ëala._ He took on his appearance from the days of Almaren- a wide eyed, innocent looking thing who would serve his purposes just as well, for now.

One could hope that Eönwë was still as sentimental as he remembered.

( _H_ _e recalled a moment in the annals of past, an Age when he was still among the brightest of Aulë’s followers-_

“Mairon,” a voice broke him out of his thoughts. “Mairon, why art thou still here? The other Aulendili hath already gone to rest and yet, I find thee here, still intent in thy labours.”

“I could ask the same of thee, brother.” the said Maia glanced up from his project - a series of mathematical diagrams that he had been working on, describing the exact waveforms of a particularly mesmerizing pattern of light. He had drawn them with pale flames right in the open air. Eönwë, inquisitive as ever, leaned over in curiosity. His eyes glittered like bright shards of ice. “Since when hast thou a reason to visit the Halls of Aulë?”

“Believe me, that wouldst be the case if it were not for _thee_. Thou knowest I lack an inclination for these sorts of endeavours, not like thee with thy clever hands and sharp mind. No- I was keeping Ilmarë company, and there is - there is a wonder I would show thee. Something which I _know_ thou wouldst enjoy. But Mairon, what is this that thou hast created...?”

He waved a hand at the panorama, seemingly incomprehensible to his understanding. His calculations were filled with patterns of lines and shapes, scribbled over with glyphs and numbers whose meanings escaped him. Eönwë had never been interested in the more logical dissertations of the grand work, in his own words. He was as free as the skies, as boundless as a strong wind. His Song was that of the wildness of a storm, or the gentle lull of clouds adrift. In other words, he was the furthest possible thing from Mairon, who found his calling in the roaring flames deep beneath the surface of the earth.

“A new branch of mathematical theory.” the Aulendil gestured, a pleased smile brushing his lips. “The harmonics of Arda, refashioned in notations that thou canst quantify from scientific observances. Fascinating, is it not? I seek to describe the exact method light refracts and recombines, after it passes through a series of oblique crystals positioned in such a manner. There is a pattern...”

“Well, no matter what it is, I am sure thou canst get on with this after an interlude. Yes, as thou hast often said: a deficiency in industriousness is the first step to stagnation- so on, so forth. But Mairon, sometimes thou hast to find a passion for living. The Great Lamps hath been completed, and it is high time thy labours are put to rest.”

“I _am_ enjoying myself, Eönwë. Just because thou wilt not see the value in anything that is not training in arms does _not_ mean the task is inherently unpleasant.”

“But thou art biased! If I ever hear that from another, I may be more inclined to believe it.” the other Maia grabbed his hand. “Oh come on, brother. I am going to be indisposed from anticipation if I am to wait any longer. And it shan’t take much time at all, I promise thee.”

Wings emerged from Eönwë back like ivory vines, feathers glowing a radiant silver. Even Mairon thought of him then, to be beautiful. It was something about the candor of his face, his smile of complete and open honesty which made it hard to deny him anything. Sighing, Mairon snapped his fingers, vanishing away his diagrams and rolling his eyes at Eönwë’s smile of victory.

The other Maiar had always wondered about their friendship. The carefree herald of Manwë and the recluse artificer of Aulë struck them as an odd pair. But Eönwë had been a persistent presence at Mairon’s side since the days before the making of Arda, when they Sang in unison in the Great Music of Creation. _Fire and air, the earth and the sky. Metal and ice. Harmonics coming together - lyrical patterns that reshaped the atoms around them. Life, glorious and thrumming - everything falling into place like the pieces of a well polished gem-_

Mairon unfurled his own wings, wisps of fire that illuminated his form like a shining beacon in the night. Power coiled around them. It whirled around the two Maiar like a great river of energy, sweeping them up together with its wild, turbulent currents. Up and up they flew, until Almaren was a tiny dot in the middle of the blue pool of the Great Lake, bathed by the mingled lights of Helcar and Ringil. _Wither do we go to, brother?_

_Somewhere that will take thy breath away._

They were two blazing comets in the sky, silver and gold. Eönwë guided him until they could go upwards no more, and gestured at the plane of Arda with unbridled awe in his eyes. _Dost thou see it?_

The Lamps were so tiny now that they seemed like points of blinding luminosity, blazing in the darkness. They twinkled under the twilight, almost like gems of indescribable splendor, almost like-

_Stars, I think Ilmarë called them. Stars - that sounds beautiful, nay Mairon? Behold!_

Eönwë extended a hand and reached into the air, drawing upon its atoms until he had compressed it into a sphere of swirling gases. His Song rang clear through Mairon’s mind, encouraging him to complete its harmony. Tentatively, he followed- weaving his own Voice into the music, weaving strands of Power into verse, watching as the sphere compressed tighter and tighter - Power humming, burning, consuming them with primordial energy - and then-

There was a bright flash, and the sphere glowed with pure light, thousands of explosions contained within the confines of their Song, shockwaves of energy, powerful- _breathtaking_ -

“Indeed,” Mairon said, his voice bright with wonder. “Thou hast given me a gift, my brother.”

_So in this way, can we create our own light in the darkness.)_

Breaking out of his rumination, Mairon looked over the horizon where he could see the hosts of Valinor, camped high above a hill. Their banners glimmered white like death, white like the emptiness of the void. Angband’s doom had arrived at its doorstep, and there was no other way out.

He launched a ball of light, like the core of a glimmering star, into the darkened sky. There it shone, and exploded into a shower of silver sparks. _I come to you in peace, brother. I am here._

And so Mairon closed his eyes, and waited.

_**ii.** (before)_

He had found a cat, one day ( _o_ _f course, there was no such thing back then_ , he mused before he corrected himself), her leg having been smashed into a state beyond repair. Maybe she fell from too tall a height, unable to land properly on her feet. Maybe she was fleeing from something, and had done so but by the skin of her teeth. Mairon sensed that she was fading away.

Death, as it were, was still a point of fascination for him. It was like trying to describe abstractions of color to someone who could not see- an impossibility, utterly improbable for one of the Ainur to ever comprehend. The idea of ending - _forever_ \- intrigued him as much as it confounded him. Even in the Timeless Halls, when he was a nebula of consciousness - he dreamt, and in dreaming, he lived.

He took her into his arms and carried her to his quarters, where he tried to heal her the best he could. He had no talent for the art though, and was only able to restore her health, not her broken limb. Having lost her ability to walk and climb, she would only starve if he let her out of his care.

Mairon saw her staring outside frequently; she seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

(There was an odd feeling in his chest- one that he couldn’t name, but found akin to the feeling he would experience when he saw projects fail, or when the results disappointed him. To his relief, it quickly dissipated. It was a stifling, tepid state, and more than that, it had bothered him. He ignored it, and volunteered himself for more duties. His colleagues noted his increased productivity.)

Never to let an opportunity to go to waste, Mairon made notes as best as he could - described the physiological changes of the animal, her behaviour, her habits. If he could reduce the concept of mortality to a scientific notion, to a series of predictable actions, perhaps he could _avert-_

The implications of his thoughts were not lost on him. Others would have not dared to question the design of their Creator, but Mairon only cared about what made sense. And if something could be improved, there was no reason for it not to be.

He reached into her mind and brushed against the fabric of her consciousness. Whispered into her spirit and heard the thrum of life pulsing in her veins. Her soul was a faint spark compared to the scorching flames that were the Ainur, but nevertheless, it warmed him. She meowed weakly in protest, sensing the intrusion into her mind but unable to understand what exactly it was. 

The study - _inspired_ him, in a sense. He worked. The puzzle pieces started falling into place, one by one. And then, it came to him.

What he was doing was - _dangerous_. Blasphemous, even as some ( _small minded, ignorant_ ) others would say. He felt potential race up his spine, caressing him like smothering embers. Plans because drafts, and drafts became reality. Every single joint, mechanical bone, and metal body was formed with the artistry of a master sculptor. Mairon worked with the doting love of a parent and the cold calculation of a detached god. Not once, he wondered if this was how Aulë felt when he made his Children out of the earth.

When the time came, he carried the cat to his pet project - a single prosthetic leg, inscribed with runes of Power. It never occurred to him until his reminiscence that he had never given her a name - it seemed so pointless, when mortal beings would never live beyond a handful of years. Who would remember them, even? They never endured to produce anything meaningful, useful. They never lasted.

Words. He spoke the Words and grabbed at her essence, twisting it around his fingers like clay. The glyphs that he drew around her glowed with heat. He had used his own ichor to paint them, breathed incantations over them until they were filled with Meaning. Her heartbeat pounded in his ears as he reached into her spirit, separating it like a weaver separating the threads of a tapestry. _Yes, just so-_ The threads, one by one, woven into the fabric of the mechanical shell, giving it life, animation, _conception..._

Mairon lowered his hands, and admired his handiwork. The process would have caused incredible pain to the cat, had he not rendered her unconscious beforehand. Even then she thrashed on reflex, though her yowls were muffled by his spellwork. The last thing he would want right now would be an interloper walking in and exposing him to those who didn’t understand, who never understood-

The cat jerked upward, awakened. Her body remembered what her mind did not, and she cringed away from him when he reached over to pet her.

_Hush, little one. Everything will be better now._

It was a success, at least, for the time being. 

Bur around seven times after he returned from his work shift, he noticed that she started to weaken. Her movements were more lethargic, and she slept more than she did before. Fourteen times, and the effect had gotten worse. Her fur started coming off in clumps, and she refused to eat. Her heartbeat became increasingly weaker and strained. Her soul had become thin, like paint smeared over too much canvas. Twenty times later, he had no choice but to smuggle her into the workshop after work had concluded - it was the leg, and he had no tools with him to remove it from her body, untie it from her spirit- only he _didn’t know_ -

“Mairon?”

“Curumo.” he spun around, eyes narrowed with irritation. _Of all the-_ “What business hast thou here?”

“If, perchance, thou hast forgotten, let me remind thee that this is _my_ workplace as well.”

He cocked his head in suspicion.

“Art thou… working in secrecy? Is that it?”

“It is none of thy concern. Leave me in peace.”

“Oh, but that is where thou art mistaken, _brother._ We both serve the same master, and therefore there should be no matters so secret that thou cannot openly share with the rest of us.”

“Was that a threat?”

“No, never!” Curumo said, all wounded innocence. “I am but a humble student, and I only desire to learn all I can. Thou hast injured me with those accusations. I am doubly sure that Lord Aulë would be glad to hear tidings of such exceptional accomplishments, as thou art always wont to produce.”

Curumo, always bitter in his jealousy, had never turned down an opportunity to make matters difficult for him. Mairon had always regarded him as a creature of low cunning, and more than often than not, humiliated him in return with his own blunders.

“Mairon…” the other Maia crooned. “What is it thou hast to hide?”

The cat chose at that moment to mewl weakly, the fool. Curumo's eyes darted to her direction, and sidestepped Mairon in the second of distraction. There, he saw her prone form, pitiful and grotesque. His mouth fell open with shock.

Aulë wore a similar expression when he beheld Mairon's failure.

“Explain this to me, Mairon.” the Vala demanded, his face ugly with anger. “Explain what thou hast done to make this- this _atrocity._ ”

Embarrassment and anger roared within him, but Mairon refused to let it show. He smiled, brushing it off like a small accident, and said, “A mistake, my Lord. Nowhere as serious as Curumo made it sound, I assure thee. I was simply seeking to redress a wrong. This animal would have starved to death with its crippled leg, and so I fashioned it a new one. Of course, there was the issue of binding it to the creature itself, so I-”

“I know what thou hast done, Mairon! And _how_ , pray tell, hast thou managed to accomplish such a feat? Let the other Aulendili hear!”

“I was doing what I believed to be right, lord.” the Maia stated, calmly. “I theorized that if there was a way to make the animal’s body recognize the extra limb as its own, it would not only accept it, but its spirit can be used as a conduit to power the mechanism. Therefore, I simply rebound its soul where the gap lay- and repaired it to my satisfaction.”

“I cannot know, Mairon, O my admirable one, if thou art being deliberately obtuse. I will not even ask how thou hast managed to manipulate the vast amount of Power this undoubtedly required - but the fact that thou couldst think of such a thing. To interfere with the animus of a corporeal being - Mairon, think of the ethical issues with such an experiment! Thou hast violated the sacred laws of the Creator, and look how it turned out. Look at what thou hast done to the poor creature!”

“A mistake. An oversight. I did not expect the creature’s soul to be so… insufficiently spread. I see my error now, but I would not have embarked on such an experiment had I known.”

“No, thou should not have even had the thought appear in thy mind! I understand curiosity, Mairon. I was like thee once, in my foolishness. I learned, and thou wilt too, that there are lines thou cannot cross. The ones regarding the manipulation of the spirit, the essence of Creation… wouldst thou have it so that in a matter of time, thy next target might be one of thy own? The _ëala_? No. Thou hast done enough. Let this be a warning to thee, and all of my students!”

Mairon didn’t miss the way Curumo smirked triumphantly at him, nor did he miss the other Aulendili’s hushed whispers as they dispersed the hall. _Melkor… Melkor attempted the same, once- Yes- I remember- he tried to twist the music of Ilúvatar to something of his own, rather than submit to His will- Oh come now, surely it is not as serious- but Mairon- thou knowest, as I, his disposition- his tendency towards the unorthodox- keep an eye on him, in the future-_

He was alone with the cat, who was looking at him with pitiful, frightened eyes.

Mairon stroked her fur for the last time, and then, before she could feel it, snapped her neck.

**_iii._ **

Eönwë came to him as he expected, his raiment shining blue and white. His armor was silver mithril, and he carried a spear that was still stained bright red with blood. Mairon was well aware that he hadn’t cleaned it, for a reason.

“You have some nerve, Sorcerer.” the Herald of Manwë sneered, “To use that as a way of getting my attention. Well! Now you have it. What do you want? Speak!”

Mairon didn’t miss the way his hands trembled, nor the way his eyes widened as he saw his former friend. It had been… ages since they had last seen each other. The Trees had grown and fallen, and Kings had lived and died. The Firstborn and their weaker cousins had colonized Middle Earth, and the sun and moon had risen. Eönwë’s gaze darted to and fro his form, as if expecting something hideous, something foul, and seeing the old Mairon stare back at him was throwing nightmares back into his face. He had never been a good liar, nor good at feigning emotions which he did not feel. Eönwë wore his heart on his sleeve, as always, and Mairon was glad to see that this had not changed.

He bowed his head, adopting a submissive stance. “I’m glad you still remember that signal, brother. I for one, have never forgotten the first time you showed me how to transmute light, above the Isle of Almaren. It is still as beautiful now as it was back then.”

“I am no brother of yours. Don’t bring up Almaren to me, _Sauron_. You are not worthy of having its name on your vile tongue.”

“But we were once, were we not?” He ignored the jibe. _Sauron._ A pathetic taunt. His enemies could have at least chosen a moniker for him that reflected him more accurately. “And I haven’t forgotten when we were, Eönwë, wind to my fire. I have- I have missed you, all these years. I’ve lost count of how many had passed, but know that I’ve never thought of our friendship as less.”

“Liar. Stop your lies. I have no time for them. I shouldn’t even have come.”

“But you did. You did, and you came alone. How did you know it wasn’t a trap? I could have had my forces lying in ambush - no matter how mighty you are in combat, even you could not have withstood the onslaught of a dozen legions of orcs and Haradrim easily on your own. You came alone because trusted me. Just as I trusted _you_ to do the same.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Come, we both know you’ve never been one for cheap tricks.” Mairon smiled. “You were always the honorable one, the honest one. You still are, you know. I hear stories of you from my forces. Instead of executing a squadron of our captured Men, you took them prisoner, and told them to go back to the South. A praiseworthy tale, to be sure, even if they _did_ end up returning to my camp. I rewarded them for their loyalty, and now they all have their own command.”

“To stain their hands even more with the blood of innocents.” Eönwë retorted. “Are you telling me I made a mistake?”

“Innocent is questionable, but I doubt we are here to debate philosophy. What I am saying is that you’re the type to uphold a certain moral standard, even while at war. Did that move make you popular with your other commanders? Most likely not, but you pushed for it anyway. You do not believe in wanton slaughter, and moreover, you believe in redemption. The years have not made you cynical.”

Silence fell between them. Eönwë stared at him, meeting his counterpart’s eyes of molten gold. If this made Mairon uncomfortable, he didn’t show it.

Ashen hair whipped against his brow as the night breeze blew past them, carrying a flurry of dead leaves in its wake. Then suddenly, Eönwë thrust his spear at him, the point just stopping shy of Mairon’s body. “Stop this charade. Have you asked me here to fight? Draw thy weapon, _servant of Darkness._ I will duel you, if that's you wish.”

His facade had fallen apart. Anguish streaked his face, which was twisted into something that almost looked like grief. Mairon recognized the expression from the Men under his command, when one of their number had died. He reached forward with his mind, seeking to touch that of his former friend’s. Unexpectedly, he found himself plunging headfirst down a cliff.

Pain. Raw and unbearable pain. Confusion. Betrayal. _You left meyouleftme y o u l e f t_

_How could thee, my brother? Thou hast broken my heart. I loved thee; I loved thee since the beginning of the World-_

Mairon forced himself back to reality, gasping for breath. His chest felt constricted, tight, like something had been battered against it. His head spun, and he would have fallen over, had he not caught himself in time. His mental shields buckled with the sheer force of Eönwë’s emotions, and it was only because of his iron will that they stopped it from going further. He could not let this affect him, he could not-

“I forgot how good you were at that.” Eönwë laughed, humourlessly. “You have always been able to see through me. I guess time hasn’t changed that. And I thought time would have dulled my feelings, but I see that that was another falsehood I was trying to prove to myself.”

“You- _you-_ ”

“Wasn’t it always obvious, _brother_ ?” the other Maia smiled in sorrow. “Since the beginning, your drive- your fire- your will- ah, but it is too late now. _Thou art no longer thyself, O admirable one. Indeed, thou hast turned to ashes and shadow._ ”

The Valarin, ringing with Power, hung heavily between them. Mairon struggled to keep his composure in the face of such a revelation. _I will master myself. I will master myself._

_You’re as emotional as a widowed woman, Eönwë. Do you think this means anything to me? If anything, you should look at yourself - the Herald of Manwë, the Chief of all the Maiar? I did not ask you here for this type of saccharine reunion. But… if I can use this in some way…_

He threw himself on his knees, rearranging his features into something similar to the one he saw Eönwë wearing, maybe a little more for showmanship purposes. He had seen enough wailing, weeping and the gnashing of teeth to fabricate an acceptable imitation. But this required a bit more finesse than a typical display of grief. Mairon allowed his eyes to soften, to water just a tad - good, good. That would do it.

“I would ask you to just listen to me. I speak from my heart.” he said - _confessed._ “Eönwë, _Eönwë._ I have been wrong. I have wronged Manwë, Varda, Aulë- but most of all- I have wronged _you._ That is why I have come before you, my brother. Know that if there was one thing I regretted doing, it was turning my back to you. Words cannot express my regret, but if only you had told me-”

“Sauron, if you think I am so stupid that I would believe you-” Eönwë cried. “You- forgiveness? Do you speak in jest? Sooner would I expect the sun to rise in the west and set in the east!”

“It is no joke. I know you, Eönwë. And I know my actions have done damage that I cannot even describe. I left without warning, because I had - _I thought I had_ no choice. Melkor manipulated me like he did all of us. He convinced me that everyone was against me, that the Valar only seeked to deny me of my work, halt my projects. He made it seem like there was an enemy at every corner, and he was the only one who cared about me, needed me- if only I knew that you-”

“Stop this.”

“I was so blinded by my paranoia and Melkor’s machinations that I could not see what was in front of me all this time. I- I see it now. I _am_ sorry, Eönwë. I know I cannot have your forgiveness, but I _am_ sorry. I’m done fighting this war. I want to make things right.”

He made no mention of the Eldar that he had just been killing the previous night, nor the Men that he had fallen with the blows of his Mace. He made no mention of the other Ainur whom he had slain, faces that he knew, whom he once called brother and sister. He made no mention of the intoxicating rushes he experienced as he calmly dismantled them. He crushed their physical forms with his weapons and crushed their minds with his Power. Melkor had taught him well in that aspect, he supposed. He had preferred not to fight - regarding it as an illogical waste - but Melkor had awakened the bloodlust in him. When he _did_ engage in battle, it begged to be sated.

Whether Eldar, or Mortal, or Ainu, Mairon knew that they were all the same: they craved to hear what they _wanted_ to hear, even if it lacked reason. They would believe what they _wanted_ to believe.

“I can deliver Melkor to you,” he said. “I can prove to you that I am done with him. He is… he is utterly wasted, and all his capacity for reason has fled from him. He will not be satisfied until he has destroyed all of Arda in his ever maddening nihilism. The Silmarils have driven him into utter ruin, and I will not be a part of his plans any longer.”

“What are you saying? Do you - do you intend on _betraying_ your master?”

“Betray him?” Mairon laughed, and said, half to himself, “No, he has betrayed _me_. He has betrayed all of us. I am asking for a second chance, and I am willing to surrender all my forces to you, if you should be willing to grant it.”

“With the hosts of Valinor sitting right at your doorstep…how gallant of you. One wonders why you didn’t choose to surrender earlier.”

“I needed time, I needed - needed a push. I needed suffering to recognize my mistakes-”

“No. Stop there, Sauron. I think I’ve heard enough.” something in Eönwë’s expression shifted, and a dispassionate look of apathy settled across his face. Gone was the anguish, the emotion from just moments before. He raised his spear, and pointed it in the direction of his army’s camps.

“Go there if you seek your “forgiveness”, for I have the authority to grant none. You know, for the longest time I wondered - if there was any of the old Mairon left in you, if there was even one shred remaining of the brother whom I had loved, so long ago. When I discovered your betrayal, I couldn’t believe it. I thought: this had to be some trick. I never had my closure. I have it now, I think. Mairon is dead, and in his place a lowly creature has replaced him. If there was anything to respect about Morgoth's vassal, it was at least his dedication to his master. Now, you have not even that. What do you have left?”

Eönwë laughed, leaving Mairon speechless, for once.

“No, _Foul One._ If you truly seek your atonement, go before the throne of the Elder King in Taníquetil. Make yourself humble in front of him, and accept your punishment, whatever that might be. You think I have such power? You have wasted your time, and mine. Now go, before I end you where you stand.”

The other Maia spread open his arms, and his _fana_ dissipated in a blinding white light. His _ëala_ \- his true form- emerged, beautiful and terrifying. His six wings beat with enough force to knock back a battalion of Men, and the luminance that poured out of his being was enough to blind even the eyes of the Eldar. _Fare thee well. May we never have to meet on the opposite sides of battle. I will Sing a mourning song for Mairon tonight, as I have Sung for him every night. Only now, I know he is dead. Fare thee well, for thou art indeed lost._

He was a blazing star, brighter than any pale imitation of Varda’s. A single feather fell before Mairon’s feet, silver as the moon.

He stood silently for a minute, and then turned away without a word.

_**iv.** (before) _

Mairon had shut himself up in the forge for days, only emerging at Eönwë’s concerned coaxing from time to time. Since the incident with his disastrous experiment, Aulë hadn’t spoken to him, and he knew the others had their eyes on his every move. They were weary, unsure of what to make of him. They always had been, of course, since the beginning. He was the odd one out, the rebel, the _difficult one._ They shunned him because he was the one who never gave a whit about the arbitrary rules that stalled progress. They stood against him because he did only what _he_ believed was right.

This had- this had just been the latest in a series of mishaps. Whenever he innovated, Aulë would bring him down - _this_ was wrong, _that_ was wrong. Curumo and some of his jealous rivals would try to find a way to use it against him. This wouldn’t have been a problem if Aulë had _understood_ \- but he didn’t. He cast his eyes aside almost every time, only praising Mairon when it made him look good, and disparaging him on every other occasion. He wanted someone obedient, a sycophant who would worship him with starry eyes and flattering praises. Was he _afraid_ of Mairon’s talent? Was he _afraid_ that he would make an impression on the other Aulendili, draw them away from his sphere of influence?

Mairon absently dipped his finger in the molten solution in front of him, tasting the metal with a flick of his tongue. He detected iron, antimony, tin, and a hint of lead. _More heat, I should think; the alloy needs to be diluted with another eighth of liquid copper-_

If he had obeyed the proper decorum, he would have apologized, made a heartfelt speech about the error of his ways. He would have kept his head down, crafting mundane, useless items only for their aesthetic and none for their functionality. Constructs whose sole purpose was to act as mere decorations to the Great Work, never pushing boundaries, never exceeding more than _religiously_ proper. Mairon had done none of that. His pride would not have him _grovel...!_

The room echoed with the pounding of steel, echoes of Mairon’s own frustration.

It was times like this when he relished in the forgework, even if it was for the most mundane of tasks. At least there was some way to express his anger without having it raise eyebrows. He- he should not be angry though. Anger was a waste of effort. He needed to meditate, clear his mind. That was all.

It was in the trance of one of those dream-visions when he first heard the call. It was… an unpleasant sensation. A small irritation, which began as ringing in his ears. Louder and louder it became, until it could no longer be avoided. _What dost thou want of me? Who art thee?_

_A friend. A friend who understands thee. Thou art as I was, condemned and judged by my kin. Thou hast known the feelings of my own heart._

_And why should I trust thee? A friend? I have no friends of thy description._

_Let me show thee then, fair one. Whispers of thee have come to my attention, and I can see why, now. Thy talents are unappreciated, thy efforts wasted. Thou art as a prisoner in a cage, but thou wert meant to be free._

_Thou knowest nothing of me, foul spirit. Get thee gone and out of my head!_

_Ah, but thou art indeed spirited. I shall return for thee, but only shouldst thou wishest it. Remember, Mairon: thou art not alone._

Disoriented, he snapped his eyes open. What was that? An early form of madness, perhaps. He brushed it off as a symptom of stress and overwork, even though a pit of uneasiness remained in his thoughts. _How did it know his name?_

He did not trust Aulë enough to approach him with the matter. Mairon used every opportunity to scry the land, attempting to locate any hint, any trace of who it was that had touched his mind. He found none, not even a lingering whisper. There was absolutely no evidence that the entire affair had been anything but a figment of his imagination.

So he continued as if nothing had happened, for a while. There was ultimately nothing else he could have done, but still-

_… I shall return for thee, but only shouldst thou wishest it._

Curiosity got the better of him, as always. Mairon reluctantly opened his mind, and reached out to the beyond. There was- a _disturbance_ that he never noticed before. _But that is impossible, that I could have missed_ -

Power, like dark velvet, embraced him like the arms of a lover. It engulfed him, warm and tender and _inviting_. He gasped, enraptured, and found himself suddenly on his back. He was looking up at an unfamiliar sky streaked with violets and reds. There was something... hazy and abstract about the environment.Something not quite right. He realized then, that he was dreaming. This was not the real world.

Mairon rose to his feet, legs unsteady, and took in the sight before him.

There were towering behemoths that stretched beyond his vision- mounds of stone and rock that stood almost as tall as the towers of the Lamps. Trees grew on top of them in a wild, chaotic manner - so different from the flat grasslands of Almaren. He had never seen anything of their like, and his innate connection to the earth elements told him that these were _irregularities -_ landforms that were created when something shook the ground so violently the tectonic plates _collided. But what could have such power, to move the foundations of the world itself?_

 _I knew that thou wouldst come, Mairon._ A voice- the voice from before- echoed. _I was awaiting thee. Hast thou seen anything of the like before? They art creations of mine- mountains, I have dubbed them. A much more pleasing sight than the sterile flatlands of the rest of Arda!_

There was no one to be seen. Mairon followed the path that winded in front of him, and the ground beneath his feet was littered with the buds of asphodel lilies. Their leaves were as pale as the light of Ringil, and their fragrance was sweeter than any perfume. 

_Wilt thou show thyself? How dost thou knowest my name?_

_I have had my eye on thee for some time, my beauty. Thou art as a dark flame in the nauseating light of Almaren, and I have witnessed how the pale shadows around thee try to stifle thee, unmake thee. I know thee, because once I was thee._

_Thou art dancing around my questions like a true master. I came for answers. Will I get any from thee?_

_Thou art in my own realm now, and here, thou wilt see what I wish to show thee. Come to me, Mairon. Follow the path._

Mairon walked. His steps were measured with caution, but he had never been one to leave his questions unanswered. He moved forward. The skies were filled with great swells of Music; it started first as a warble, and then grew gradually to a powerful roar. It was all around him, overwhelming with its heaviness, a strength that made it nearly impossible to resist. He raised his mental shields higher, squinting in the darkness that lay before the path. Even here, he could call upon his natural talents. He drew on the atoms in the air, forcing Power against the oxygen molecules until they combusted. A single ball of fire was born in the shadow. He pushed forward.

The asphodel bloomed when they were touched by his light. Their petals were opal, streaked with amethyst and garnet. They were as smooth as the finest silk, finer than spider gossamer. When he reached out to pluck one, it melted into a shower of glittering dust.

Eventually he saw a gate, as black as ebony. There was no handle. He knocked, and the sound echoed around the valley like the beat of a great drum.

_Thou hast come far, fair one._

It swung open with a crash. He realized now that it was the door to a fortress, and the fortress itself was carved into a mountain, spirals of rock its towers. There was a sort of terrifying beauty in the architectural design, despite all the disorder. It was the exact opposite of the Almaren palaces of symmetry and gleaming stone. 

And it was utterly _massive_. The magnitude of the structure dwarfed anything they had on the Isle. It was like comparing a castle to a brick house. He wondered if this was real, or just a part of the dreamscape.

_It is no illusion. I Sung it myself into being._

_That would be absurd, if it were true. I would not believe that Manwë or Varda could have missed this monstrosity._

_But thou hast, hast thou not? The Valar see what they desire to see and hear what they desire to hear. Their power hath waned, they are blind and content with the dismal state of Arda._

_Thou wouldst dare blaspheme the Powers?_

_I dare to speak what I think, like thou wouldst. Look into thyself and thou wouldst know my words to the truth._

_Who… who art thee?_

There was a figure awaiting him, high above a dais. Their back was to Mairon, but even from where he stood, he could feel the potency of their being, taste the cackle of _potential_ in the air. That feeling that first ensnared him, that smoldering force, the shrill scream of the cosmos, older than existence, struck him, rendering him lightheaded and dizzy. Their aura was addicting, mesmerizing. He knew that he was being shown a mere fragment, a veiled reflection of their true form. Already, he was shaken to the core of his being.

They were Vala - that was without a doubt. None but a Vala could wear such Power around their being, nor wield it in such a fashion. But Mairon knew the Valar, and even Manwë was nothing, a passing breeze, compared to what stood before him. This Vala was a force beyond nature, smelling of ozone and darkness. They were a world upon themselves. The Lords of Almaren looked like parodies compared to… _this._

_Thou art Vala, but thou art not Manwë, nor Tulkas, nor Oromë- that means thou art-!_

The figure turned around. Mairon noticed his eyes first, two blazing orbs set in a face that was as beautiful as the night. Surrounding his head was a cackling halo of black lightning, and he stood before a throne that was carved from obsidian. Then, he Spoke with Power, and Mairon felt the earth tremble.

_Indeed, none could ever mistaken me for one of my lesser kin. No... I am the one who arises in might, the greatest of the Valar. And now I welcome thee, fair one, to this fortress I have created. Utumno is its name. Here, I await, and watch._

Mairon reached forward with an outstretched hand, his mind a whirling blur. Power coiled, heavy and heady around them. He wanted to touch, to _understand_ . The world dissolved around him in a kaleidoscope of color, darkness and light intermingling, refracting off of every surface like a hall of a thousand mirrors, and _then-_

_Thy name is…!_

He awoke, his eyes bright with dream-madness. There was someone pounding on the door.

“Mairon? Hast thou locked thyself in the smithy again?” it was Eönwë, and his familiar voice was a welcoming relief for the Aulendil. He was still shivering from his ordeal, and desperately tried to grasp onto something to pull his spirit back to reality. _Thy name is…_

“Ilmarë is here too,” Eönwë continued, a touch of concern creeping into his voice. “Come, Mairon, art thou indisposed-?”

He opened the door, setting his face into a smile. “No, I was… meditating. Thou art a welcome sight, brother, and thee as well, Lady.”

He tried to push the vision out of his mind, but he could still smell the ozone lingering in the air. What if that had been no vision? What if there really was a fortress, hidden beyond Arda, housing a Vala with enough strength to-

“I would ask thou both a favor.” Mairon played with a pair of his tools, almost absentmindedly. “Wilt thou accompany me? I feel the urge to… fly, a bit. Show me the farthest corner of Arda, and what lies beyond.”

“Well, this is a surprise! Of course, thou knowest that I would like nothing more.” Eönwë smiled brightly. “Shall we, then?”

_Thy name is… thy name is…_

_Thy name is…_

“Let us go.” he said. “There is much I would like to see.”

**_v._ **

“...Melkor. My lord Melkor.” 

“Hmmm…?” the Vala raised his head, turning his weary eyes to the kneeling form of his greatest servant. “You have returned, Mairon. What news do you bring?”

Grond lay across his lap, its black metal gleaming dully in the light of the braziers. Melkor’s hands - burnt and black underneath his gauntlets, grasped at its handle. His helm, where once all three of the Silmarils lay engraved, sat at his feet. The empty hole where that Mortal had carved out the third gem stood out like an empty gash. An Elven half breed, a pitiful Man, and their hound had managed to pluck it from right under Melkor’s nose. This would have been _unthinkable_ an Age ago, when the Eldar still trembled at the very mention of the dark Vala’s name. But things had changed. Everything had changed.

None in Angband could touch the gems anymore, after Varda tainted them with her unholy light. Melkor’s helm therefore, remained in that state. An ugly reminder of their failures. Melkor though, had refused to put his crown aside. He had become obsessed with their radiance. Even now, he could not separate himself from the instruments of his doom, and held them near him like the last things of value in the world.

He did not rise from his throne. He had not shown his face outside the walls of Angband since he had been crippled from his duel with that Noldor upstart, Fingolfin. Melkor’s gait had become hobbled and unsteady, his ruined foot causing him pain whenever he deigned to walk. He wore his armor most of the time after that, in order to conceal his disfigurement. To ameliorate his shame.

Mairon carefully kept his voice detached. There was no predicting how his master would react, these days. 

“Increasingly negative. The Black One has fallen from the sky, and the towers in ruin lie. The Enemy is here. They surround us on all sides, my lord. Our dragons are all but gone. Our forces are decimated. I leave the rest for you to envision.”

Melkor’s scarred face twisted as he cried in anger, hewing Grond into the ground. The magnitude of his rage was enough to reverberate throughout all of the walls of Angband. Mairon still flinched when he felt it, even though it had become increasingly commonplace.

“You know I speak the truth. Everyone is waiting for your orders - what are we to do?”

_You will order Thangorodrim to be turned to dust before you admit defeat. You will not admit to what is right there in front of you - your doom is already on the threshold of your fortress. No, you do not see it. Not when we lost Utumno and certainly not now. It is I who must mourn our losses, and consolidate what remains._

“ _My orders_ … amusing, coming from your mouth, my lieutenant.” Melkor smiled, a flash of bone white teeth. “Just as I am amused you are still here. Have you not betrayed me, like the rest of them?”

“Never, my lord.” Mairon answered, smoothly. _You must never know._ “My loyalty to you is absolute, as it always has been since I swore myself to you.”

“I know, fair one. I remember. Those words you said to me- _until the Unmaking of the world_ . I hear them clearly now, just as back then. It was so long ago, yet not so long at all… but they have all turned against me, have they not? While my enemies attack me from the outside, traitors eat away at me from within. Worms. _Parasites._ I was betrayed. Betrayed! Do you not see them?”

“Many have fled to preserve their own lives.”

“Pathetic, self serving louts. I should have killed them myself when I had a chance. They forget who raised them, who created them! But you - you are still here. I never doubted you, Mairon, my flame. Come to me.”

The marring of Melkor’s visage had been the worst for him, even more so than the rest of his injuries. This was one of the rare occasions where he had removed his visor, and Mairon could see the extent of the damage Thorondor had done. Scar tissue, purple and red, discolored the once-fair appearance of his _fana._ Nevertheless, he climbed the steps to the foot of his master’s seat of power, turning his face upwards like a supplicant approaching a shrine.

“ _Thou art as resplendent as when I first laid eyes upon thee._ ” Melkor sighed, entwining his fingers in his fiery hair. “Now, what was it you were saying? My orders. Give me the state of our armies.”

“My lord, there is no more army. We have remnants, at best. Our siege engines are destroyed. The walls stand unmanned and empty.”

“The orcs? They will not flee, like those useless Mortals under our standard. They would stand and-”

“We have lost most of the orcs,” Mairon said, struggling to mask his impatience, “during the last battle. Many of the squadrons are leaderless and have engaged in infighting in lieu of any real command. I have tried my best to keep the peace, but you know their nature.”

“The Valaraukar? Have them assemble here, in this hall. I would address them.”

“Master, the Valaraukar are all vanquished or defected. There are none left to speak of.”

“There must be something!” Melkor roared. “I refuse to accept this- _defeat._ I am Arda’s rightful ruler, and I will _not_ be brought down by these dogs.”

“No, you will not, but there they are.” Mairon pursed his lips. “My lord, I must be honest: we have lost. Everything is lost. But there are - there are _other_ ways, and beside that, you can escape-”

“Escape? _Escape?_ I warn you, do not test me with those treasonous words. Where is Gothmog? Where is he? Thuringwethil? _Where are they?!_ ”

 _He has gone completely mad._ Mairon thought, bitterly. _He can no longer distinguish what is real, and what lives in his imagination._

“They died centuries ago, or do you not remember? Gothmog when we sacked Gondolin, and Thuringwethil when you lost the Silmaril. You must escape, master. Or you will meet their end. That is the truth, as you once told me- _I dare to speak what I think, like thou wouldst._ This is what you have to accept.”

Melkor seemed to shrink in his throne, suddenly seeming very tired, and very, very old. His hand dropped back to his side, and he held the Silmarils up to a ray of moonlight, shining through the windows. They resonated with the silvery beam, their glow making all other jewels look like dull rock in comparison. But Mairon could only see utter poison. He saw all the ugliness of what they had forfeited to obtain those worthless stones, all the wasted blood and effort. He saw, and he hated. The very sight of them was enough to make him burn with anger.

“I will not escape. Where should I flee to, this time? First it was beyond the Walls of the Night, and then beyond the bounds of Eä. Then it was back here, where I started. So be it. I will meet them here, and then they will fear me. They will no longer forget that it is _I_ alone who was made in the image of Eru Ilúvatar.”

_Then you have sealed your fate, but I will not perish with you._

“You will not stand with me.” Melkor voiced his thoughts aloud. “That much I can see. How long have you held that seed of treason inside you as well? But I suppose it matters little now.”

“I never intended-”

“I know, fair one. I will not ask you to die for me as well. You have stayed with me until the end. I could force you, bend you to my will- your oaths still stand. I will not, on the account for the years of your service. But never let me see you again, or I will crush your spirit entirely and utterly, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Mairon bowed, stiffly. “I hear you, and obey.”

“ _Then I release thee, go._ But my servant you will be, for all time. You are bound to me until the Unmaking, and no Power in Arda can alter that.”

The words struck a sort of chord within him. He felt his throat tightening, a lump settling at the base of his neck. _As thou art bound to me. Ah, if only fate wert not so cruel to us._

But there were places below, places far beyond the eyes of Valinor. Places that he knew would be safe, places that he knew he could remain until this storm had blown over, no matter how many millennia it took. He had time. He had patience.

Next time, he would do things right.

Next time… _next time…_

_Once, we had the world at our feet. It will be that way again. I will carry your flame with me, master, even if you should perish. Next time... I will not fail._

He walked down from the dais, and each step struck the stone like hollow bells. A profound feeling of loss settled in his chest, almost like-

_**vi.** (before) _

_Dost thou pledge thyself to me?_

_I do. I swear it, until the Unmaking of Arda. I will be thine._

Melkor’s lips, cool and burning at once, sweeping over his own.

_Then thou wilt find me in the North, in Utumno. Come to me there, fair one, and we will reshape the World._

Melkor’s words, lingering in his ears. Melkor’s Power, enveloping him like an embrace.

Mairon prostrated himself, and wept.

**_fin._ **

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I didn't expect to have so much fun writing this piece. The original intent was a short story that I was to write during my lunch break, but I ended up with the 9k-ish thing here instead. Mairon literally just writes himself - he's _such_ a fascinating character, even if he's terribly flawed as an individual. But of course, we know that.
> 
> I started off describing the Ainur (during the Lamp Years) as more incorporeal and spirit. It didn't really work out. One can only attribute so many emotions and characteristics to say, a sphere of light. Thus, I had to anthropomorphize them in order for the story to flow better. 
> 
> Mairon really doesn't understand emotions at all. This will really bite him later, when he has to deal with a certain Fëanorion... 
> 
> Also, damn. Eönwë really grew a personality of his own. I struggled with his dialogue at first, but he, like Mairon, seemed to come alive. Yes, Eönwë always loved Mairon, as a brother and as something more. He was always too naive, I think, about his counterpart's nature. A large part of how he missed the signs of Mairon's corruption by Melkor was willful ignorance. Mairon of course, never figured that out about Eönwë (until it was too late).
> 
> Due to the complete lack of words in Valarin, I had to compensate with Quenya as much as I could.
> 
> This was also the first time I wrote in "archaic" English, so I apologize if you see any grammatical errors.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feel free to drop a kudos or comment :)


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